


i never left you alone

by charcolor



Category: UTAU
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-08 06:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19865398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcolor/pseuds/charcolor
Summary: you had said to throw away those drawings you made,so i hung them up all across the walls.





	i never left you alone

**Author's Note:**

> based off the song TODAY by Marz Mitzi (GHOST)  
> song: https://youtu.be/uZ6LdlGHjAw (ghost's reupload channel)  
> (edit 5-7-20: ghost has deleted the channel bc the amount of reuploads already online made them decide their own archive was unnecessary. i'd rather not link to an unofficial reupload but i'm sure you can find one.)
> 
> i think i write too many ventfics so i might delete this one day. i don't know. i know no one like ghost's old music but this song really resonates with me sorry

The room was too bright.

White walls, white floor, white bed, white gown, white face, all reflecting the sunlight intrusively seeping through the windows.

She'd searched for any sign of color other than the faded pink hair fallen against the bed. It had been here last time, but last time had been so long ago. She'd taken it home with her and spread it around herself so that no one else could steal it. The color wasn't here anymore.

She knew she shouldn't have been surprised. She'd somehow expected more color to be waiting for her return. She knew that had been foolish of her, but at the same time, she still had some stubborn belief that she could not tear away from herself, no matter how hard she tried.

There had been color in that girl's eyes last time, too. Bright green, as vibrant and alive as the summer grass. Those eyes were half-open now, too dull to even twinkle in the blinding light, refusing to look at her again.

Despite that, she smiled. "How are you doing?"

The girl was silent. She didn't move, only gazing blankly at the wall, her eyelids occasionally slowly fluttering closed and then opening up halfway again.

The reason there was no color was because that girl couldn't bring herself to create any more of it. But when did she stop? How long had it been? Three months? Four? Five? It was hard to remember anything outside of wanting to see her again. What could she do in the little time she had before needing to part?

"I had a dream about you," she said. "We were at my house again. It was dark outside, so all the lights were on. I don't remember what we did together, but it was fun."

The girl simply shook her head and spoke very, very quietly. "Did you throw them away?"

She remembered, then, what happened to the color. When she realized it, she wanted to keep it intact forever.

Before she left, she called, "I love you!"

More quietly, less alive, she heard, "I love you, too."

* * *

More time passed.

The color she'd taken home slowly deteriorated. Some of it had ripped away, some of it was blocked out by old stains. It was still mostly recognizable to her, recognizable enough for her to seek it out elsewhere every day.

That bright, bright room had no color left in it at all. That girl wasn't there anymore. She still visited every day, and checked every nook and cranny for any speck of color, but every day, there was nothing.

One day, as she was leaving that room and walking down the hallway, she passed a man who recognized her. He shook his head solemnly and asked, "You never let her be, do you?"

Without stopping, she only answered, "I can't."

It was still December, and when she was outside again, she saw that the sun was setting, its last shred of golden light gleaming across the snow from that morning, identical to the snowfall from when she last left behind that girl. The streetlights were starting to flicker alive under the darkening sky.

She hummed as she walked along the road, and eventually, realizing she was all alone, started to sing. She didn't think about the words her lips were forming. She only thought about tomorrow, she only thought about how, maybe this time, they will meet again.

The wind howled with her nonsensical song, and she wondered if she, too, was never truly left alone.

* * *

"How is your girlfriend doing?"

A friend reached out to her. She called her in late morning, when she had just woken up to snow all over her neighborhood, basking in the reflected sunlight as it showered over all the color she'd surrounded herself with.

"I don't know," she answered.

"Huh? Why not?"

She looked at the calendar, and all the days crossed out in differently colored pens. "I haven't seen her all month."

"She hasn't talked to you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

She looked at the colors again. They still clung to the wall in rotting shreds. "I don't know."

"Are you sure that she's still, um..."

She hung up the phone and admired the colors that remained. She often pieced them together into scenes from their dreamer. They weaved into all sorts of stories, and those stories weaved into each other to form an endless tale of lively chaos.

_Momo sliced through the static with her knife, and broke out into the sight that had been withheld from her for so long. The meadow was in full bloom, with lilies and pansies and roses, with daisies and sunflowers and tulips, grown so tall and so full that the grass underneath her bare feet was completely obscured. She fell into the plush bed of petals, and gazed up at the sky. It had been torn to shreds, leaving gaping pitch black holes full of stars, glaring down at her. The faded pink clouds passed over them, into a calming sea of fuschia. Momo got back onto her feet and found a tall, dead oak tree. Climbing this tree, ignoring the bloody splinters piercing her skin, she could reach the sky and touch it. It felt icy, and she cowered when she saw it had encased her fingertip in ice. Nonetheless, Momo was brave, and flung herself upward into the foreign sky._

It made her smile. She would look for that girl today, too.

* * *

It was still December. She was singing to the melody that the birds and the wind and the thunder in the distance had harmonized. She couldn't see any of those companions. Very dark clouds were approaching, and with the morning fog, it blocked out anything beyond the dulling streetlights.

Her legs carried her to that colorless room, as always, but this time her course was interrupted when a trembling hand grasped her own.

"Stop."

She turned her head to gaze up into tear-filled pink irises. It was her friend. She was biting her lip and shaking her head.

"It's been a whole year now, Uta. You have to stop. She's not ever coming back."

She didn't understand. She just kept staring, waiting for elaboration.

Her friend released her and turned away, and before running off she said with conviction, "Momo's dead."

She realized it had been said so many times before, but only now did she remember the tears, the dreams where she'd been told to leave her alone, the memorial service. She remembered she'd been visiting a different vacant room every time, subconsciously refusing to see a stranger where Momo was supposed to be. She remembered that it had been an entire year since her friend Teto had asked if Momo was doing well. She remembered Teto telling her that Momo was gone. She remembered crying and then forgetting all over again.

This time, it stuck in her head, and Uta silently left the hospital.

* * *

The gravestone was marked with the year Momo was born and the year that Uta had been blocking out. A small pile of flowers, some of which had nearly wilted into nothing, rested in front of her. The rain was drenching them, and the drops of water ran down the worn paper in Uta's hands. A drawing that Momo had made of the two of them together, already fading from raindrops and teardrops, and soon no one would ever know what it once was.

Uta placed the drawing on top of the soaked flowers, knowing and not caring that the rain would beat it until it could only be seen as tactless litter.

_Is that how Momo saw herself?_

Uta brushed a finger over the rough, gravelly surface of the gravestone.

_Is that how I made Momo see herself? If I left her alone, would she have stayed for me?_

Uta pulled her hand away and let her body fall into itself. Her wet face was obscured from the thunderstorm by her tightly folded arms around her legs.

Momo couldn't see her now. Is that what she would've wanted? Or did she want Uta to leave altogether, and finally let her be?

Uta whispered, "I can't," before her breaths broke into hopeless, regretful sobs.


End file.
